


Proving a Point

by PixelPunk



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (if you squint and look sideways), Beau has authority issues and we all know it, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Humiliation, Impact Play, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Dynamics, Riding Crops, Spanking, Subdrop, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 00:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18510412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelPunk/pseuds/PixelPunk
Summary: In which Dairon teaches Beau a lesson that she doesn't want to learn - but does anyway.





	Proving a Point

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely a means for me to enact this specific and incredibly self-indulgent scene I had in mind, please do not ask me why Dairon has Beau in this position in the first place because I doN'T KNOW
> 
> All I live for is Beau refusing to admit she's a submissive bottom, alright? And this came out kind of angstier than I intended, but whatever.

Beau was leaning uncomfortably against the wall, her face pressed against the cold stone, with her arms bound with rope at right angles behind her. She was naked from the waist down and bent over just enough that her ass stuck out, involuntary goosebumps rising on her dark flesh. Her eyes closed and her teeth were clenched.

It was Dairon’s presence behind her that made her fight to suppress a shiver, a shifting in the air as Dairon tapped her foot. If she were to open her eyes, she would see the familiar form of her mentor, the lithe, androgynous elf just a bit shorter than her, holding a finely-crafted riding crop in her dexterous fingers. Beau had already decided that there was no way she could look at her through this. She could control her voice, fight back, keep her dignity - but eye contact would give her away.

The pause was far, far too long for Beau’s liking, as she tried to subtly shift in her stance.

“Are you gonna get on with it, or what?” The unknown that she was about to experience was already making her too high-strung for comfort, fists clenched uselessly at her back.

The _tap_ of cold leather on her inner thigh nearly made her jump out of her skin. There was no force behind it, not yet, just a warning, and a shiver erupted over Beau’s entire body from the impact point.

 _Jesus, calm down_. She forced herself to visibly take control of her body, still holding her muscles taught as a reflex but not showing fear or weakness.

Ten strikes. That was the deal.

She just had no idea why the hell this was making her so nervous.

The bravado she normally had while naked from the waist-down had inexplicably been stripped from her in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. It was in everything that Dairon did, from the utilitarian pull of rope across her wrists as her teacher indifferently tied the knots, the push of her hand at the meet of Beau’s shoulder blades as her cheek met stone, and the ghost of a lingering touch at the nape of Beau’s neck thereafter that made all the hairs on her head rise on end.

And, yeah, it was no secret to herself that she had thought about Dairon in that way before, no big deal. She was hot, and badass, and Beau was easy. Not that complicated, she brushed it off as an errant fantasy because _obviously_ that was never going to _actually_ happen, y’know?

But _this….._ went beyond that. In a way that made Beau so, so weirdly uneasy - there was a completely foreign charge to _this_ that made something curl in her gut. The only way she could rationalize this was the clench of her jaw, of thinking over and over, _“This is literally no big deal. This is going to be over before you know it. You’ve taken hits a thousand times worse, how is this anything different?”_

It _was_ different, though, and the fact that she couldn’t identify why scared the absolute shit out of her.

Her trained ears caught onto the air shifting, and identified the change as Dairon preparing for the first strike. She held firm, waiting with determined stiffness.

A faint whistle, a sharp smack echoing through the chamber, and a brief second of delay before a smoldering flash of pain rippled outward from the impact site, right on the ropey muscle of her left ass cheek. The pain, while expected, was somehow far sharper than she anticipated, almost similar to a cut, but also like a burn. She let out a barely-there exhale through her teeth, feeling the pain trickle like a strange warmth through her as it dulled to a throb.

She felt no less nervous about the next blow, for some reason. She felt - something?

She couldn’t identify what it was before the next blow hit her, precisely at the same place on the other side. This time, the sensation of that white-hot pain joined up with the remnants still radiating from the first blow and spread throughout her, making her knees feel oddly weak in their locked state, and settling in a buzz underneath her skin.

It felt like no time at all before the next hit, and the next. The cutting sound of leather against her skin seemed so loud, yet she couldn’t hear it barely at all over the hammering of her pulse in her ears. And that strange heat that seeped from the pain, she realized with a shock, was the familiar feeling of arousal starting to curl through her veins and pool, like an iron ball, in her core.

Unable to comprehend this, she had just barely started to panic about the implication when the next blow landed directly below the raised mark of the previous, and a gasp escaped from between her teeth as she struggled to regulate her breathing properly. Her eyes, having flew open in shock, immediately shut once more as she prayed to whatever deity listening that the sound of the crop prevented Dairon - so sharp, so clever, so _perceptive_ oh no - from noticing that. The once-cool air was starting to feel oppressively heavy against her skin as she fought to keep her stance, desperate not to betray any of the completely insane responses her body was having to this, suddenly feeling violently and uncontrollably vulnerable - oh Gods, she was getting _wet_ why was this happening -

With that, the next hit traveled all the way to push the air out of her lungs and her breath escaped in a tiny, humiliating whine deep in the back of her throat. Beau’s teeth immediately grinded shut, every muscle tensing up in pure terror. The heat that was glowing across her ass was reflected across her cheeks as she stood, paralyzed, waiting, oh Gods oh fuck oh shit -

And she flinched, hard, as a hand suddenly wrapped itself in the topknot of her hair. She felt a gentle tug as the ribbon was discarded and the unruly strands came loose, then a firm yank as Dairon pulled her head away from the wall and spun her with another hand on her shoulder until Beau’s back and bound arms were pressed hard against the rock and she was facing Dairon with zero time to react. Dairon’s face was impassive, as usual, with a quirk in her thin eyebrows, and Beau wanted to _die_. Any possible smartass comment would never redeem this and she knew it, her failsafe defensive measure lost, she kept her lips clamped shut. She scowled at the floor and stood ramrod straight, fighting against how fucking _loud_ her heart was beating and how horribly, horribly _hot_ she felt all over.

Beau did not _blush_ , her skin was too dark. She had the creeping suspicion Dairon could see it anyway.

“You are enjoying this.”

And there it was, laid out baldly with no trace of doubt in her voice. Stated as a fact.

Beau swallowed, indignant, _“Look-”_

The embarrassingly hoarse words died in her throat when those rough, slender fingers brushed up along the inside of Beau’s trembling thigh and barely, gently stroked over the thick, dark curls between her legs, sending such a powerful wave of want through her that her knees finally buckled. Dairon had one forearm braced against Beau’s collar and throat, and then she just barely, gently ran a single finger over the slick that was beginning to leak onto Beau’s inner thighs and stick to her pubic hair, and when it traveled up and just barely, gently caressed her throbbing clit she lost it and _whimpered-_ an utterly broken sound.

And just like that, the fingers were gone, and Beau’s hips made a completely involuntary twitch in an effort to chase the contact.

“Four more.”

Dairon’s hand fisted itself back into Beau’s hair and firmly, but not cruelly, maneuvered her back into her former position against the wall as Beau breathed raggedly and tried not to think. The humiliation was suffocating her, threatening to drown her.

 _Damnit, damnit, not a single sound anymore._ She bit her lip hard enough to break skin as she braced for the sting.

There was a pause, instead, where she felt Dairon take a step closer, and another, until she was close enough that Beau could feel her right there, nearly close enough to brush against her, fully clothed and always so maddeningly, maddeningly composed. Dairon’s foot came down purposefully between Beau’s, and with a smooth stroke, pushed Beau’s bare foot to the side with her own boot, spreading Beau’s legs wider and putting her on full display. There was no resistance. She exhaled sharply in an almost-moan, she’d never felt so goddamn exposed, and so completely, terrifyingly drunk on it.

_Why am I letting this happen. Why can’t I say anything. Why does it feel like this. Why Why Why-_

She _wheezed_ when the riding crop, rather than hitting her, just slid over the abused flesh, cool and impersonal, going down, down… and ghosting over where she was so, so wet and aching. Her eyes flew open in shock, but before she could do anything to react, the whistle of the crop interrupted her thoughts and _thwap, thwap,_ two hits on each ass cheek in quick succession. Her hands twisted as she squirmed, trying to find purchase with the room spinning like it was. Two more. She could barely count.

Once more, the leather that felt so cold on her boiling skin, a faint caress over the ghosts of where it had struck her before, and then down once more. The crop stroked over her with a bit more force and Beau fought the urge to groan, a cold sweat breaking out across her face. It rested there, a barely-there touch against where she was so sensitive as her heart thundered in her ears and she couldn’t fight the impulse to try to push down against the touch even through her utter _panic_ \- _she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t, would she?_

A whistle, shorter this time, and the crop _slapped_ right upon Beau’s clit.

A strangled moan tore through her with no chance of stopping it, her knees buckling uselessly and she dropped painfully to the ground. It was a gentle hit, without much force to it, but it _hurt_ like a white-hot poker that was dipped in a thick, confusing aftershock of pure pleasure that rippled through her and she scrabbled upon the stone trying to find purchase and salvage her stoicism even though in that moment, in that _second_ , she knew she had nearly _came_ from that and that was _insane_ what the _hell_ was wrong with her-

Dairon’s hand circled over the planes of her back where she struggled, the rough, calloused pads of her fingers grabbing her chin and assisting her as Beau - terrifyingly, uncharacteristically clumsy - managed to pull herself up into a kneeling position with her eyes screwed tightly shut. The other hand came firmly upon her shoulder, keeping her there, kneeling. Beau’s legs were already spread and the thought of how easily she had given herself to this made confusing pangs of shame and arousal blend into one beast- she wasn’t even fighting back. _When had she ever not fought back?_

Even as she struggled to form thoughts, the last remnant of effort was completely blown out of her mind with the next, and final, blow, right at the spot on her ass where Dairon had first hit her, what felt like ages ago, and Beau could barely manage a huff through the heat clouding her vision and barely hear Dairon calmly setting the crop down upon the table on the other side of the room.

Limp and writhing on the floor, Beau tried to steady her breathing. One, two, eyes still shut, she couldn’t bear thinking and everything felt too much-

She felt Dairon’s presence, crouching behind her. Felt a hand wind into her hair once more, not pulling, just holding her head in place. The other hand felt up her thigh and stroked up, over the overwhelming slick and pressing deliberately against her clit, circling, and Beau _keened_ through the bruising clench of her bottom lip in her teeth as her brain completely short-circuited and she thrust her hips desperately into Dairon’s touch, so wet that there was no friction to hold, only a crest of blinding, blinding frenzy as Beau _sobbed_ and came with a choked-off whimper that was too loud and echoed through Beau’s ears even through the pleasure that felt like it would never end as Dairon rubbed and rubbed relentlessly and _fucking fuck oh_ she was making ragged little high-pitched noises that she couldn’t suppress and came _again_ in a harsh pulse that felt like being stabbed in the gut before collapsing completely against her teacher’s hold.

Her ears ringing, everything was in a haze. She hardly registered Dairon nimbly untying the knots behind her with one hand before her arms, numb and useless, fell limply to her sides.

Regaining control of her hands, her fists, pierced through the thoughtless smog suffocating her, and on wobbling, newborn calf legs, she rose unsteadily, lurching away from Dairon and avoiding looking her in the face with every ounce of will she had. Stared at the wall as she stumbled to pull her pants over her legs and grasp her shoes in one shaking fist. Fought against the harsh, painful lump in her throat, and the wave of emotions that scared the absolute shit out of her breaking through the clouds and eating her from the inside out.

 

“Beau-”

 

The door slammed shut, she had already left.


End file.
